


Bad Days And Worse Days

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Charlie [8]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Attack in the hospital, Caring, Emotional Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Minor Violence, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 02:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17256233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: Charlie is attacked in the hospital. How will she and Tom deal with the aftermath?





	Bad Days And Worse Days

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, Happy New Year!  
> We'll see some description of violence as well as the aftermath that it has on Charlie. It's not that heavy, but if you feel uncomfortable or if it triggers something for you, you should sit this one out.  
> There'll be a happy ending of course.

 

  
“You sure you have to go?” It’s Tom’s ‘morning voice’ Charlie’s learned to love that almost drags her back to bed. It’s far too early – 5 a.m. – for either of them to be awake. But work is calling and people need to be saved.

“I’m sure,” Charlie sighs, pulling the t-shirt over her head and looking towards the bed where Tom is propped up on his arm, still half asleep. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

“I don’t want you to go either.”

What’s normally something dorky he would say to lure her back to bed has an angsty ring to it today. He’s been saying it since yesterday night when Charlie’s told him about her day.

It’s been hectic as usual and a bit more exciting than she would have hoped.

They deal with all kinds of violence and see the reminders of it almost daily. But it’s not often they have to physically drag someone out of the room and call the police.

Billy’s father wasn’t fond of being told off by Charlie and having her tell the authorities about him. But the evidence on the little boy’s body – as well as on his mother – was clear.

So, Charlie made him leave.

She sighs. “Tom, it’s all going to be fine. That stupid Mr. Morris is not the first case of domestic violence we’ve seen and reported.”

Tom swallows heavily, the last remnants of sleepiness gone, replaced by a dull sense of foreboding and a huge dose of worry.

She says it’s all going to be fine–but he remembers the haunted, wounded look in her eyes last evening when she came here. Remembers that she was trembling with a mix of righteous fury, hurt and shock.

He wants to punch the arsehole to the end of the galaxy. Abusive men are among the worst bastards in the world, and Tom has encountered them often enough doing his charity work (most of which he doesn’t make public, because he doesn’t do it for publicity).

“Come ‘ere, Charlie.”

He sits up and holds open his arms, and after a moment’s hesitation she walks over, still barefoot. He pulls her into an embrace, and she sighs.

He needs the embrace just as much as Charlie does. She’s scared him yesterday. They’ve known each other for almost two years, but somehow it never occurred to Tom that Charlie is in actual danger at her work place.

To be fair, she isn’t most of the time, but the hospital is an emotional place for many people, some don’t know where to put those feelings, and Charlie is one of the first people they meet there.

Tom knows what he’s talking about.

And so, he holds her a little tighter. “Be careful,” he whispers and feels Charlie nod against his chest. “Or don’t go.”

“You know I’ll go. But I’ll be careful,” she mumbles back.

Charlie feels him nod and squeeze her even tighter for a moment.

When she pulls back to finish getting dressed, Tom lifts her chin and fixes her in one of those lethally intense stares of his.

“You’ll let me know if I can help in any way, right?”

She isn’t sure how he could but says “yes” anyway. Maybe he could accompany her to work. That wouldn’t help at all though. And she isn’t some scared weakling. She can handle this.

It feels wonderful that he cares so much, though. And that he goes all protective like when he’s Papa Bear for Evie.

And so she kisses him–and gives in all too readily when Tom takes control of the kiss until it’s curling her toes and frying her brain cells.

Frying maybe, but she still remembers there are people depending on her today. So, with a sigh she lets go.

“I’ll call you in my lunch break,” she breathes.

“Do that. And whenever you can, please.” Tom’s still holding her chin in his hand, occasionally nibbling on her bottom lip. “And write.”

It’s sweet – and sexy – how much he cares, but it’s making Charlie laugh a little. “You do know I have work to do though?”

“Eh,” is all Tom answers, dragging her face close once more to kiss her again.

It’s changed. Especially since they’ve had sex a few months ago. And since he’s opened up more, them dating, going out and Charlie asking for advice on things as well.

Tom’s playful with her. And sexy as hell.

“Tom,” she mumbles. “I need to go.”

* * *

Four hours later, at the hospital, Charlie studies the patient file in front of her, holding a scan aloft to see it better and assess the bone damage of the brave little patient.

She made it to work this morning, of course. After some more kisses and reassuring hugs and worried glances by Tom. He seemed…almost clingy. A bit panicky. But she understads that, because thinking about losing someone he loves can’t be easy at all.

She’s had four text messages already, one for each hour she’s been here. She’s answered them, each time with an emoji because Tom has a love-hate elationship with them and she hopes it’ll calm him–and her own nerves–down a bit.

Charlie is just about to close the file and rise from her chair when commotion outside has her freeze.

“Hey, wait! No, wait! You can’t just…”

There’s a scuffle and an alarmed shout, and then the door is shoved open so forcefully that it bangs against the wall.

In the doorway is Mr. Morris, Billy’s abusive father, rage evident in his face. What makes him so scary–to Charlie–is that he’s a perfectly civil man for most of the time. Almost handsome in a boring sort of way. Smiles and nods politely, dresses neatly. Holds his wife’s elbow in what seems caring but is probably a warning to behave. And underneath that polished veneer lurks evil, as she’s seen with her own eyes.

And now evil is here. For her?

Oh god, oh god, oh god, Charlie thinks, still frozen on her chair. And then ‘shit’ and other things as Mr. Morris closes the door just as forcefully as he opened it. And then locks it.

Okay. Okay, she can do this. She’s not constantly trained for this, but she knows how to de-escalating a situation like this. In theory.

Right now, Charlie’s afraid she can’t shut up and make it worse. But just sitting here won’t help either, will it?

So, she stands, facing Mr. Morris whose body is still blocking the door.

“Mr. Morris, please…”

But she can’t say anymore, because a loud “SHUT UP!” interrupts her.

She flinches, but tries again. “You won’t make your situation…”

“I SAID SHUT UP! You know,” he continues, immediately calm, “I liked you yesterday. Before you called the police. And now you stupid little bitch caused an unfortunate situation.”

They’re eyeing each other, Charlie trying to not show how much she’s shaking right now. She needs to stay calm.

“And you’re going to help me fix it. Tell the police you lied.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.”

See? That’s what she’s meant. She really should just say nothing at all.

“Oh, it will happen. You’ve made me very angry, good doctor.”

And with that he approaches slowly, ignoring the shouts from the hallway for him to open the door. 

Charlie doesn’t want to show weakness, but apparently bravado and her big mouth won’t help either.

She stays behind the desk, using it as a barrier while she lifts both hands.

“I only did what I think was right. It’s my duty…”

She’s cut off by another snarl that transforms his face into a monstrous mask.

“You, little doctor, should stick to putting band-aids on children. It’s none of your fucking business to meddle with other people’s lives.”

He stalks closer while Charlie tries not to flinch or hyperventilate.

“You just had to stick your nose in it, huh?” He slams both hands hard down on the desk and she scurries back, the background noise hardly reaching her over the rush of blood in her head.

“Take back that statement and you can go back to your little sheltered life, bitch.”

“No.” It comes out with quiet defiance, though part of her wonders whether she should just lie and prevent something drastic. But she can’t get the bruises out of her mind.

The bastard seems to be changing tactics. His face morphs into a cold sneer that makes her stomach clench with dread.

“Oh, I know your type, little doctor. All those pathetic women who think they run the place but in truth only lead miserable, boring lives. Deep down, you’re all asking for it. What you need is a good, rough handling, a real man. Bet your boyfriend is a wimp who treats you as if you’re made of glass. Well, surprise, glass breaks!”

Without any warning, he lunges and shoves her hard, and Charlie feels herself falling.

There’s a bookshelf behind her desk that her ribs make painful contact with as Charlie falls against it sideways. Her right wrist doesn’t fare any better as Charlie tumbles to the floor and tries to hold on to something.

Shit. Pain rushes through her and for a moment she sees stars.

She suppresses a whimper and tries to get up before Mr. Morris comes around the desk, but she doesn’t quite manage.

He’s clever, Charlie realises, as he gets closer but stays far enough away for her not to make contact with him to drag his legs from under him.

Damn it all to hell, what can she do now?

Charlie doesn’t have much time to ask herself, because now he seems to want to corner her, dragging a wooden chair along, that’s normally reserved for her patient’s parents.

Not that this would matter now.

Charlie sits against the wall and before she can do anything about it, Mr. Morris sets the chair down so her legs are trapped.

Then he sits, a cruel smile on his face. “You know that’s your fault, right? If you take back the statement and then be a good girl, I’m going to leave and won’t hurt you. And until then we sit here and wait.”

All Charlie can do in return is stare. And then flinch when that… ass kicks her hip with his foot.

* * *

Tom is slowly going out of his mind.

He’s been sending Charlie a message an hour since she left this morning and he couldn’t shake the awful feeling of foreboding in his stomach. He knows it’s foolish. She’s facing all sorts of tough situations on a daily basis and he’s never fretted like this. And she can handle about anything thrown at her.

He’s got full faith in her–and he’s also worried sick. Because he can’t get rid of this ominous premonition that the abusive arsehole will make a re-appearance.

And if something were to happen to Charlie… No, he can’t even think about it.

But he does. Think about it a lot. Because she hasn’t answered the message from the previous hour, nor this hour’s text.

Something is wrong.

Tom paces the living-room, glad for Evie away in school. His hair is sticking up like porcupine quills because he’s been running his hands through it.

Should he listen to his feeling? Or is he an overbearing, paranoid idiot who’ll scare Charlie away because he’s so freaked out he doesn’t give her any time to breathe and do her job?

Taking a deep breath, Tom makes a decision. He dials her cell phone.

The phone rings. And rings. And rings.

“Dammit, Charlie, pick up.” Cursing, Tom paces even more agitatedly.

Alright, she’s maybe just in the operation theatre. Or really busy. He should keep his shit together.

Still, his pulse beating faster, he dials the children ward’s office. And waits. And dies a thousand small deaths.

* * *

Charlie can’t anymore. Breathing hurts, her ribs hurt, her hip and her wrist.

In the end it didn’t really matter if she agreed or not. Mr. Morris is a man who wants power, and even when Charlie’s agreed to talk to the police – just to buy some time until someone would have managed to open that damn door – he continued with his abuse.

Verbal and physical.

When the door finally opened not yet ten minutes ago, Charlie was a sweating whimpering mess pressed against the wall by the man’s hand around her throat and his knee and thigh painfully pressed against her pubic area.

Someone from security along with the police dragged the man away, Charlie doesn’t even know how.

She doesn’t care, she’s not even fully aware what’s happening, just that she doesn’t cry and simply flinches when a fellow doctor inspects her injuries.

They’re not life threatening or require a stay in the hospital, but they hurt. Her wrist is bandaged and hurts whenever she turns it, her throat is sore, her ribs cracked, making breathing painful and she’s got bruises on her lower body.

And the stupid phone in the ward hasn’t stopped ringing until some nurse – Charlie can’t focus enough to figure out who exactly – picked it up, babbling on, casting glances at Charlie.

And then hangs up, coming towards Charlie, an almost apologetic look on her face. “You’re boyfriend will be here shortly to pick you up,” she says and Charlie almost faints.

Tom. Oh shit.

Part of her dreads Tom’s arrival because she knows seeing her like this will freak him out. And then there’s Evie to consider, and she doesn’t even want to think about that.

Part of her, however, just wants Tom to arrive fast and hug her. Make it all go away, even if only for an instant.

Before Tom, though, the hospital security and a policeman make an appearance–again. Charlie has only a very vague recollection of their interference and of probably saving her life.

All she remembers right now in the blur of shock and pain and anger is that someone tried to break in the door, and suddenly Mr. Morris pulled out a knife and snarled threats, his last bit of humanity and sanity gone. She thinks she might’ve ducked some assaults, even got a desperate punch in. But nothing is certain.

Charlie might’ve been in the room with him for minutes or hours, she has no idea. People from outside tried reasoning, and then there was a lot of noise, and somehow they risked entering despite the man’s weapon and overpowered him.

It’s all too much right now.

She wants Tom. But none of the drama he’ll probably bring with him.

* * *

He fucking hates hospitals. Tom doesn’t know a lot right now, can’t even fully remember how he got here, but something he’ll never have to remind himself of is that he hates hospitals.

But he’s needed here, because the nurse that answered the phone scared the living daylights out of him, and now he just has to see Charlie.

See her in the flesh and – he gulps – see that she’s alive. That he’s made a mistake in letting her go this morning but that he can take her home with him.

There’s police everywhere along with whispers and hushed conversations from patients. Tom doesn’t hear any of it.

And then he arrives in the ward, briefly stopped by some police officer that doesn’t want to let him through until Tom – and Mary, who looks decidedly shaky – tell him he’s Charlie’s (Tom almost chokes as the officer says ‘the victim’s’) boyfriend.

On shaky legs he stands on the floor looking at Charlie who stares straight ahead and doesn’t seem to see anyone. Her wrist is bandaged, Tom can’t see any other injuries.

And then he’s off, rushing to get to Charlie as fast as possible.

Charlie’s surrounded by police officers, worried colleagues, and a security guard who keeps hovering although her assailant has been marched away to the police station long ago.

She’s had enough. But there are questions to answer and repressed memories to dig for, and she really tries.

But, God, she’s had enough. She wants Tom. In a way she’s never wanted someone to just take all responsibility away from her and wrap her in a bubble of safety.

“Charlie! Charlie!”

Her head snaps up at the sound of a voice yelling her name from the other end of the corridor, angry and scared and simply desperate at the same time.

He’s here.

“Tom.” It’s a feeble whisper, and she’s struggling to get up for a moment but can’t seem to manage.

Then a running figure plows through the crowd, all polite manners forgotten, and with another strangled shout of her name, Tom’s here.

He stops dead at the first glimpse of her with her injuries, and for a moment his expression is so full of anguish that she feels her own heart die a slow death.

The next instant, he kneels in front of her chair and embraces her, and she doesn’t mind the pain one fucking bit.

This. She needs exactly this.

And so she falls, lets herself be hugged and squeezed and cared for.

Everything hurts, because Tom presses himself against her upper body, sitting between her legs and lets his hands roam over Charlie’s body, seemingly checking up on her and every part of her.

She hisses when he makes contact with her ribs, and Tom immediately lets go of her, sitting back a little, and swallows heavily.

“Charlie,” comes out on a choke, and then his hands are cradling her face, fingers moving in slow circles along the back of her head.

Charlie feels herself starting to shake, trying to make eye contact with Tom, whose eyes are frantically taking in her entire form.

“You’re hurt,” he breathes.

“I’m fine,” she answers and closes her eyes as Tom leans forward and presses a kiss on her forehead.

* * *

Oh God oh God oh God.

Tom is feeling too many things at the same time. Again.

Flashbacks to what happened with Em. Guilt for letting Charlie go to work today. Fury. More guilt. More anger. And pain that is physical as much as mental. Grief. And utter helplessness.

He swallows and swallows so that he won’t break down into a sobbing mess. Charlie’s eyes are shiny, as he knows his own are blurry with unshed tears. She’s shaking and she looks awful. So’s he surely.

He’s got about a million things he wants to say but he shouldn’t.

And so Tom struggles. It takes all of the strength he has to choke out another heartfelt, “Oh, Charlie. My love.”

Then he moves in for another hug, this one much gentler. He’s probably still hurting her a bit, no matter how gingerly he holds her now. But he has to hold her. Simply has to.

She’s here. She’s alive. He’ll fix this, somehow. He’ll be there for her.

Someone breaks their embrace by softly clearing her throat. It’s Mary, and Tom sees – after he’s turned his head rather reluctantly – that the nurse struggles to hold in her emotions as well.

“You can go now, if you want,” she says softly. “She’s already got some good medication to calm her down a bit and for the pain. But I’ll give you some painkillers to give her at home as well.”

All Tom can do is nod. He doesn’t even know how severe Charlie’s hurt, but as he takes the medicine from Mary’s outstretched hand, he swallows. Again.

That’s a high dosage as far as he can tell.

And Charlie? She’s not doing anything, doesn’t even nod or huff along, simply sitting there. But she’s here, Tom tells himself again.

He’s overwhelmed, in way over his head, and Charlie won’t be able to help him this time, but she’s here.

With one last encouraging look, Mary turns and leaves, and Tom looks at his girlfriend.

“Let’s take you home,” he whispers, trying to steady his voice.

Once again, the crowd parts when Tom walks along the corridor, this time with an arm around a shuffling Charlie and a considerably slower pace.

She’s bunched his sweater in her fist and is hanging on silently, head lowered. It breaks his heart all over again to see her like this. Tom has to swallow once more, choke down tears and words and emotions. He knows how it’s like to be in shock, even though his situation can’t be compared to Charlie’s.

Wordlessly, he guides her down and out to where he’s haphazardly parked his car, in such a hurry to get to her that he nearly drove into two other parked vehicles.

He holds her door open, then clicks her seatbelt into place for her and presses a quick kiss to her head.

“Hang on, love. We’ll be home in a jiffy.” His voice still isn’t steady.

Taking a few breaths so he won’t shake as much while driving home as he was when speeding here, Tom gets them moving. He shoots glances at Charlie, who’s keeping her head lowered. Are the painkillers working now? Hopefully numbing her a bit?

His gaze falls on the time and he suppresses a curse. It’s almost time to pick Evie up from school. Coming to a quick but not easy decision, Tom uses his hands-free set to make a call, asking his sister Emma whether she can keep Evie for the afternoon.

Of course, he knows that his daughter will come face to face with it all soon and that she needs an explanation. But not today. Not while it’s all he can do to breathe and go on living and while Charlie shouldn’t have to witness Evie freak out and worry.

* * *

Charlie has no idea – or recollection of – how or why, but suddenly she and Tom are parked in his car in front of his house.

Somehow she’s got the feeling that he’s been talking to her – or someone else? – during the drive, but she can’t remember for sure.

Charlie knows what’s happening, she’s going into shock. But she shouldn’t, can’t, because Tom himself looked like he was about to kneel over in the hospital. And she’s alright, right? Nobody there to harm her anymore.

Next thing she knows is that she’s shuffling to the front door alongside Tom. How did she get out of the car?

“Do you want to go to the couch? Or the bed? What’s more comfortable for you?”

“I’m fine,” is all Charlie says, and then sees the look on Tom’s face and adds, “the couch please.”

The pain meds haven’t fully worked yet, but she knows they’re strong ones, because everything in her head feels like cotton.

Which is a good thing on one hand and a little scary on the other hand, because she finds herself – again so suddenly – sitting on the couch with Tom announcing he’s going to make tea.

She doesn’t want tea, but doesn’t protest. He needs something to do and she’s gonna be fine.

* * *

Tom’s hands are still trembling a bit when he goes through the motions of making tea. The familiarity of it all, the soothing ritual, helps to somewhat calm him down.

But it’s not enough. He’s got all these images of Charlie being attacked by that bastard in his head. Of how she must’ve fought bravely but felt utterly helpless. Of how she might’ve needed him but he wasn’t there.

With a choked groan, Tom leans his forehead against the wooden pantry cupboard, his fingers curling around the counter top in a white-knuckled grip.

Breathe. He needs to breathe and find his inner strength. No, he couldn’t be there for Charlie when she needed him most. But that’s not his fault. And yes, he  _can_ be there for her now. And he’ll damn well be. This isn’t the time for fights or self-flagellation.

Tom poors two cups of tea, busies himself with robotically taking out cookies and arranging the hobnobs on a plate, then putting everything on a tray and taking a deep breath.

When he walks back into the living room, Charlie has leaned back against the couch, her lids drooping. Not wanting to startle her, he calls out her name softly.

It takes her a moment but she meets his gaze, not swiveling her neck.

On unsteady legs, he crosses over and fusses with the tray. When he places a cup in Charlie’s hand, he notices a chipped nail with a tiny bit of dried blood. Jesus! Is that from her trying to fight the arsehole off?

“Thank you,” she mumbles, whispers, but doesn’t take a sip, yet. Instead she puts her hand with the cup in her lap where her bandaged hand rests as well.

Tom gulps and looks back at her. Charlie’s head rests against the back of the sofa again, a little turned to the side so she can look at Tom.

Is there a bruise forming on her throat? What did that bastard do to her?! And does Tom really want to know? But he needs to, so he can help her, right?

“Where are you hurt?” he asks.

“Not now. ’m fine.”

Tom frowns. She’s clearly not.

“Where’s Evie?” she asks instead, obviously trying to change the topic. So, she really was almost out of it in the car.

“She’s with Emma.”

Charlie nods. “Okay. Tell me ‘bout your day?” Her voice is getting heavier and she starts to slur a bit. The pain meds must be kicking in slowly but surely.

She wants to hear about his day?

Tom blinks, then reminds himself what state she’s in. If Charlie wants to hear about that, he’ll damn well find something to tell her that doesn’t involve fretting for her safety and coming to get her. Hell, he’d read her the phonebook if she requested it now.

He sits down next to her, nursing his own cup without actually drinking.

“Well, I made French toast for Evie this morning. It was my first attempt.” He leaves out that he was so nervous that he needed to keep himself busy.

“‘s it a’right?” Her words are slurred now, and he’s glad about it but also panicky because a knocked out Charlie will just freak him out some more.

“It wasn’t bad.” He doesn’t even attempt a chuckle, knowing it would fail. “I guess I need more practice. Evie said…”

Tom trails off, realizing that Charlie is asleep at last. Careful not to jostle her, he lays a hand on her leg next to him. He needs to know she’s here.

Watching her, he takes sips from his tea and struggles for composure. The next few days, weeks, months are not going to be easy for them. He’s got no idea how he can really help her - but he will, even if it kills him. Perhaps she’ll need therapy? Perhaps he could go with her, sit in on the sessions?

* * *

And so they’ve spent the next hours. Charlie asleep and Tom busy with making tea and cleaning up as well as making dinner for the two of them and Evie.

Not without constantly coming back into the living-room to check on Charlie every five minutes. He’s almost burnt the minced beef for the Bolognese because he’s spent the time staring at Charlie.

And then she woke and Evie came home with Emma – who looked rather panicky but quickly left with a promise of a call the next day – and they had to explain that Charlie’s hurt herself a little and is a little sore now.

She’s tried smiling and Tom’s tried too, and then they brought Evie to bed, Charlie slowly shuffling along.

Then they went to bed, Tom holding Charlie as close as he dared, and with another dose of pain meds Charlie’s fallen asleep quickly. And Tom followed.

So. Why is he awake now? He opens one eye, the constant tugging on his left arm starting to wake him up. The clock tells him it’s almost 3 a.m..

“Daddy,” the person at his bedside whispers.

“‘vie? What’re you do'ng up?” Tom mumbles, his right arm swung over his eyes.

“Daddy, why is Charlie on the couch and cries? I think she looked in my room and the I was awake but she wasn’t there and then I went looking and now you have to look too!”

Tom shoots up to a sitting position, trying to shake off the sleep. Then he looks to his right. No Charlie. What the hell?

Heart in his throat and beating a mile an hour, Tom practically catapults out of bed–and narrowly manages not to trip and fall.

He runs to the living room and stops dead in the doorway, the sight ripping something out of his chest.

Charlie is indeed on the couch. In the dim light of one lamp, he can see she’s crying, a fist half-stuffed into her mouth as if she doesn’t want to make a sound.

Boots, now a handsome cat and not a cute kitten, is on her lap and wiggling in agitation, trying to lick at the tears on her face.

There’s a tug on his hand that makes Tom jerk, swallowing a groan of anguish.

“Daddy, should’t we go and comfort Charlie?”

It takes a while for him to be able to whisper back.

“Yes. Yes, we should.”

He has a feeling Charlie didn’t want him to witness her breakdown–and certainly not Evie–but there’s no way in hell that he’ll leave her alone now.

So, he approaches – carefully, because he doesn’t want to startle her, and in the moment she looks like a caged animal – and whispers, “Charlie?”. He’s got to be the strong one now. No shaky voice and no trembling hands.

Charlie jerks then hisses, probably due to the hasty movement, and looks at them. She shakes her head, eyes wide. “No, Tom. Evie…”

It breaks his heart – and it also breaks his heart for Evie to witness it, but she’s better here than alone in her bed now – and he slowly gets closer. He can do this.

“Everything’s fine, Charlie. Okay? We’re all fine.”

“I… I think… I heard him, he’s here.”

It makes him stop in his tracks, worries him, and then Tom realises that it can’t be true, because that bastard is in police custody.

“He’s not here. I promise.” Tom’s almost there now, Evie’s hand clasped tightly in his, his daughter’s eyes wide. They’re going to have to talk about this when it’s over.

Charlie shakes her head again, the hand that was in her mouth now clutching at her sleeping shirt. “I think… I’m sure… can’t breath, I… I choked… I… can you check? The door…”

Part of Tom wants to argue that he couldn’t have been here. But it’s futile. So, he nods. “Okay. I’ll go and check. I promise you it’s alright.”

Boots is cuddling on Charlie’s lap by now, while Evie clutches at Tom’s hand. “Can I look too, Daddy?”

Tom swallows.

“Okay, munchkin. Let’s go and see. After all, I’ve faced and defeated monsters before.”

He doesn’t get the tone quite right in lightening the mood with his quip at his Loki role, but Evie smiles a little and that’s worth the effort.

The two of them are just out the room door when Charlie shouts after them.

“No, don’t go. I… What if… what if he comes for me while I’m alone?”

She sounds so small and forlorn and panicky that it’s killing Tom.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

He turns back, exchanging a look with his wide-eyed daughter.

“Why don’t I go to look on my own then, just to be certain? Evie and Boots will watch over you and make sure nothing happens.”

Charlie starts to nod and winces, so he sends his brave little girl over with a pat on her head and tears himself away from the scene.

To reassure Charlie, he walks all the way to the door, makes sure it’s locked, then wanders into the kitchen and fills a glass with water for Charlie.

When Tom enters the living room again, Evie is sitting on the floor with her little arms hugging one of Charlie’s legs and her head snuggled close while Boots is purring his heart out on Charlie’s lap.

His girlfriend is still shaking, tears streaming  down her cheeks.

“The door is locked, and there’s nobody here, okay?” Tom says softly as he gets closer until he can put the glass down on the table and sits on Charlie’s other side.

“Okay,” she answers in a small voice and Evie simply nods, almost asleep again, lulled in by Boots’s breathing and the movement of Charlie’s leg.

Tom can see her trying to calm down, but Charlie doesn’t quite manage. So, he moves his hand closer to her leg, not sure if it’s alright for him to touch.

“You need to breathe for me, alright? Can you do that?”

“I… I can’t. Hurts. I’m…No…”

“Okay, okay.”

It’s hard for Tom to stay calm now. But he’ll manage. Or so he hopes. And so he takes Charlie’s head in his hands and looks into her eyes. “Breathe with me.”

Somehow, Charlie finds it in herself to get lost in Tom’s gaze, to seek shelter and solace in his warm and gentle hands, in the reassuring timbre of his voice.

She sees and hears him inhale slowly, deeply. Then exhale. The inhale again. It’s sort of hypnotizing, and before she knows it, the tight band around her body loosens a fraction and she sucks in a shuddering breath. And another one. They’re small, shuddery breaths because it hurts, but at least they’re a start.

And then she’s breathing in rhythm with Tom and not feeling quite so dizzy and frightened and helpless anymore.

When Tom moves a hand from her face, Charlie wants to whimper in protest but he takes hold of her own hand and places it over his chest.

“Feel that? That’s my heart, beating for you. Breathe with me and live with me, Charlie. I’m right here.”

God, he does know how to calm her down. In a flash of clarity, Charlie thinks that Tom would make an amazing nurse.

Then she focuses on his breathing and his nearness again, dimly aware now of a purring cat in her lap and warmth snuggled against a leg.

“I’m sorry,” is the first clear thing she says. And she means it. She’s a mess with a cat in her lap, a child around her leg and a boyfriend who needs to tell her how to breathe.

“You’ve got nothing,  _nothing_  to be sorry for. Do you hear me?” Tom’s voice is strong and reassuring and he manages a tiny smile as he strokes her cheek with his thumb. “You’re very strong and brave.”

Charlie wants to argue, but she’s so very tired. She’s been awake for a while now, but she was so sure it was Billy’s father’s voice that woke her up. She’s still sure.

But it seems that everything’s fine now, and that Tom is there. Just as little Evie who – and Charlie hates to admit that – is braver than herself in the moment. And who’s also asleep against Charlie’s legs right now.

“Repeat it, Charlie. ‘I’m strong and brave.’,” Tom tells her again, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“I’m strong and brave,” she whispers. Not quite believing it.

“Right. So, are we taking Evie to bed now?”

Charlie instantly feels her heart beat faster again. Panic settling in. He can get to her. “Can she sleep with us?”

Tom can feel her getting panicky again, so he drops a tender kiss on top of her head.

“Of course, she can. But I’ll tuck Evie in on my side because I don’t want her to accidentally kick you.”

Charlie gives the smallest of nods. “Okay.”

He tries a smile and knows he’s failing miserably. “I’m warning you, though, there might be some snoring.”

Charlie’s mouth twitches but she doesn’t comment or even retort that she’s used to his occassional snoring by now.

After dropping another kiss on her head, Tom unfolds his long body and rises from the couch. He scoops up his sleeping daughter with one arm and the dozing Boots with the other.

“Let’s have ourselves a slumber party then.”

He forces another smile, and Charlie gets up from the couch, wincing a bit.

Together, they make their slow shuffling way back into the bedroom, where Tom tucks Evie in and allows Boots to curl up on the foot of the bed. He waits for Charlie to settle in, fusses with her blanket and then joins her, snuggling as close as he can without hurting her.

She’s breathing, but somewhat jerkily, and her eyes are open and staring at the ceiling in the half-dark.

How can he make her feel more at ease so she’ll fall asleep?

“Would you like me to sing you a lullaby, love?” Tom asks.

Charlie sighs a little, trying to steady her breathing again. It helps that she can hear Evie mumble and breathe a little and the snoring from Boots.

She turns her head to the side and stares into Tom’s eyes. He’s watching her lovingly, and in this moment she falls in love with him a little more. And she would tell him, if she was a little more herself.

But she isn’t, and so she settles on moving her head a little closer to Tom so she can feel his breath on her cheek. She nods as much as she can manage.

“A song or a story, please.”

He nods. “Okay, love, settle down,” he whispers. And then starts humming. “I saw the light, I saw the light. No more darkness no more night. Now I’m so happy no sorrow in sight. Praise the Lord I saw the light.”

Charlie’s breathing gets slower and she lets herself be lulled in by Tom’s voice. “Love you,” she mumbles as he sings on.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all we have on Tumblr so far. Eventually, this will have a part 2 at some point, in which we will see some more of the emotional aftermath this has on Charlie and Tom.


End file.
